Under His Wing
by Todd's Pet
Summary: This is a little PWP - in other owrds a thinly disguised excuse for a hawt sex scene with our beloved Commander, Todd - BUT... there is a twist at the end...


Under His Wing

The sight of him makes me hold my breath every time. Even though we've lived on the same ship for longer than I care to remember, the effect he has on me has never diminished, but there's nothing I can do about it; having to live with the ache of this unrequited attraction is my punishment for having these unacceptable feelings in the first place.

Hovering in the doorway, I know my uncertainty is drawing glances from others as he strides across the room toward me.

"What is it?" he demands, his deep, dulcet voice sending a strangely pleasant sensation pulsing down my spine in waves. I lower my eyes respectfully and hold out the tech tablet; as he plucks it roughly from my hand the air around us both is stirred, the scent of him swirling around my head, making me feel dizzy with desire. Head bent, I look intently at his torso while he scans the tablet and I cannot stop my mind from conjuring images of him stripped of the heavily-tooled black leather coat… wondering how toned his abdominals might be… imagining the tattoos he might have… fantasising how his skin would feel under my hands, his tattoos rippling like creatures coming to life when he moves…

The tech tablet is thrust under my nose and I look up. That was a mistake. My eyes widen as they meet his, glaring at me, the narrowed, black slit-pupils slashing the swirling golden depths of astute eyes that seem to see right through me. Can he tell?

Hesitantly, I take the tablet and he lets out a short blast of air through his nostrils before turning sharply on his heels and walking away. His hair, worn shorter than most wraith, spins around his shoulders, then sways a few times before settling again to hang in a bedraggled waterfall halfway down his back. How long I have yearned to reach out and touch it!

In spite of my longings, I still have several hours' work to do here – albeit only the kind of routine filing work they can entrust to someone of my lowly position – so I take a deep breath and try to ignore his overwhelming presence, try not to make a complete fool of myself.

It's harder than I thought it would be. His charisma reaches out into every corner of this hive and holds everyone within, wraith and worshipper alike, in his thrall. I know I'm not alone, but if I am to survive I must get a grip. I manage a whole hour until my head lifts of its own accord to gaze across the room at him, drinking in the sight of him for several seconds before I realise what I'm doing and lower my head back down to my work.

A mere twenty minutes pass before the next time my body betrays me to sneak a look at him… but this time when I raise my head, my eyes look straight into his! He is watching me! I know I must look like a deer caught in the light but I cannot tear my eyes away from his, hard as I try to.

Then he smiles at me. A barely perceptible lift of one corner of his mouth – his lips soft and… stop it! – but a smile nonetheless, isn't it? He is smiling at me, I'm sure of it. Could this mean…? Swift as a slap on the face my reason returns in a flood of self-remonstration and I snap my head back down to the files in front of me. One more data crystal to be encoded and I'm almost done for the day. I feel his gaze still drilling into me and rush to finish my task so that I can escape his silent scrutiny.

Turning to leave, I scold myself mentally for even thinking he might be remotely interested in me; I am torturing myself needlessly with this crush on the hive Commander. Even just the thought that someone in his exalted position would want someone like me is ludicrous. Having delivered the last errand of my day en route, I slink back to my bunk, trying to blend into the walls of the hive hallways, hoping to stay invisible to the officers and drones who pass me.

The next morning, I get ready for the day's tasks ahead, hoping I can get through them without the need to see the Commander, but girding myself for it if it happened – and yes, I confess it, buried deep in my mind is a tiny kernel of hope that I will see him. What kind of masochist am I?

But the second the door to the dorm I rest in slides aside, I am confronted by an officer who simply stands and leers at me. "The Commander wants you," he says at last. His voice is deep and brusque and holds a mocking undertone I cannot quite place.

He does not offer any further instruction, so I ask him, "On the bridge?"

"No, in his quarters… his private quarters." This time the sleazy edge to his voice is obvious and I snatch a sharp breath.

"Surely there's some mistake?" I ask, certain the Commander could not have sent for me.

The officer leans toward me briefly as he turns to leave, dipping his head and looking at me in such a way that I almost expect him to wink at me. Then, with a broad grin, he strides off down the corridor. Turning just once he flashes me a look that's an unsettling mixture of pity and amusement, as if he feels sorry for me for what is about to happen.

But what is about to happen? I don't know and there's only one way to find out. I take a long, deep breath, lift my chin and stride down the corridor with as much pride as I can muster.

Standing outside the Commander's door, my pride deserts me. My stomach is roiling so much I feel nauseous and I want to run away and hide like a frightened child. Several deep breaths do nothing to calm me and my heart continues to hammer in my throat. Why would the Commander request someone as junior as me to come to his private quarters? Times are hard and there is a shortage of Worshippers; am I to be entertainment – or a meal…?

Whatever my fate is to be, there's no escaping it, so grasping every scrap of courage I can gather, I swipe the panel in the wall. The door slides aside with an ominously soft hiss, throwing a shaft of blue light out into the corridor where I stand, but no one is there and I hesitate, not knowing whether I should enter or not. Just when I think I might get away with turning and leaving, his deep, velvety voice pours like melted chocolate from the interior of the room, trapping me like a fly in amber, unable to leave even if I wanted to.

"Are you going to come in or not?" his smooth voice asks. Tentatively, I push my head around the wall of the doorway, followed even more slowly by my shoulders. "I don't bite," he announces, and I step hesitantly over the threshold. "Well, not unless you want me to…" he adds with a throaty chuckle that rolls over me in waves and almost makes me want to turn and run.

But that option is removed when the door slides shut behind me and the Commander's imposing figure resolves itself from the shadows. In the small and enclosed space of his private rooms, he seems even more impressively tall than usual and, suddenly aware that I'm gawping, I snap my mouth shut and look down at my own feet.

"Come in – you can relax here," he says almost kindly. "Try to forget that I'm Commander." He sweeps his arms from his side and tilts his head to indicate the room around him. "In here we can forget about such things." One of his hands falls comfortably back to his side – he at least is relaxed – and his other arm reaches for my shoulder to guide me deeper into his rooms.

Unlike the Spartan bareness of my own tiny room, there is a clutter of things on every available surface; technical equipment nestling side-by-side with personal possessions, but the overall effect is one of friendliness rather than clutter – an observation that seems so incongruous with the way his penetrating gaze is making me feel like a specimen under a microscope. And yet, here in the context of his private space, the word approachable seems to sum him up – at least as far as wraith go.

As I move further into his rooms the light shifts and falls on an object that draws my attention; a large sea shell jostles for space among a tangle of communications cables and, without thinking, I reach out and pick it up. Then, suddenly realising what I've done and that I am now standing holding one of his personal possessions without first asking his permission, I falter and look up at him.

His eyes have softened to a molten gold and he smiles at me. "You like that?" he asks.

"I love the sea," I offer, my voice hesitant, almost shy, in comparison to his confident tone that brims with rich layers.

"Indeed," he replies. "The sea can be so deceptive, can it not? Calm and unruffled on the surface but a seething mass of currents beneath; or a raging squall of turbulent waves while below lie the placid calm of hidden depths…" He turns to look at me, lifting one hand to stroke my hair, and his eyes are warm and reassuring. "You have hidden depths, I think," he adds.

My surprised expression must be obvious for his smile widens and his eyes dance with barely contained laughter as I splutter out, "I thought… I mean, I had wondered why…" Not really knowing what I mean, I leave my words unfinished.

"Why I invited someone as junior as you into my inner sanctum?" he observes, straight to the point – something this uncannily observant wraith does as a matter of course, I find myself thinking. "No one on this hive escapes my notice," he tells me, as if he had read my mind. "And I like to think I can spot potential when I see it," he says, striding into the next room as he speaks. Not sure where this is leading, I hover in the doorway and he turns to look at me, his deep amber eyes sending shock waves down my spine.

"Come in," he tells me, inviting me into his inner sanctum as he called it with a gentle wave of his hand. Unable to move I stand for several moments until he releases me by breaking eye contact and I take the few steps into his private sleeping chamber. Why do I feel like a fly about to walk into a spider's web?

Stepping around a small table to lift a cut glass decanter from its surface, he raises the container towards me and asks, "Some wine, perhaps – to help you to relax?"

It will take a lot more than a glass of wine to do that, I think nervously and yet I move cautiously nearer and lift my hand to take the proffered glass. Instead of handing it to me, he indicates towards me with it and says, "You'll be more comfortable if you take off your coat."

Stupidly, I look down at myself and then back to the Commander, as if unable to understand such a simple suggestion. Then I suddenly realise I had not noticed before that he is wearing only pants and shirt – how could I have missed that? – but then his eyes had held me captive from the moment he invited me in and I saw nothing else but their swirling, molten depths.

Clumsily I start to unfasten my coat as he sets the glass down on the table beside the decanter and takes a single side step to place himself behind me. Finally I finish fumbling and lift my hands to the lapels to shrug it off, but his hands are already there and my fingers brush his as he slides my coat from my shoulders. He tosses my coat onto the bench behind him, then reaches across me to the table and picks up the glass. I know I am visibly trembling now and he is so close I can feel his warmth radiating toward me as he holds the glass out to me, his breath stirring my hair as he says softly, "Your wine."

All pretence of bravery gone now, I grasp the glass with both hands and throw the contents down my throat in a single gulp.

"More?" he asks. I nod my head rapidly, blinking hard. "You are quite safe, I assure you," he tells me gently while he refills my glass. This time he turns to face me when he hands it to me and, when I take it, he covers my hand with his and adds, "Strength comes in many guises. You were very brave to come here alone." He releases my hand and I gulp down the wine again before he takes the empty glass from me and places it carefully back on the table.

"You are young and inexperienced… you've been told stories, no doubt…" He walks a slow, close circle around me as he says this, trailing his fingertips through my long hair and down my now bare arm. I swallow hard, wondering what comes next, for I have indeed heard stories.

"Grossly exaggerated stories…" he murmurs, his voice dropping several tones deeper as he leans in, the heat of him making me feel dizzy – or is it the wine? – and lowering his head close to mine. I stare straight ahead and I know my eyes must be wide with shock when he brushes his lips across my neck, just below my ear. "Or perhaps not…" he adds, the resonance of his voice vibrating across my skin like an electric shock.

He draws away from me and straightens to his full height, looking down at me, his eyes searching mine as if he can read the essence of my being there. I take a step back, almost a stagger, and instantly his hand grips the back of my neck, his long fingers tangling into my hair. The desire I see ignite in his eyes makes me gasp out loud. The sound merely brings a lazy smile to his face and he lets his eyes wonder down the length of my body and back – slowly, appreciatively, so that I am left in no doubt what he wants of me and that the stories are true. His free hand follows the journey his eyes took, hugging the contours of my shoulder, chest and stomach, taking a casual detour around my waist, across my hip, down my leg, and back up the inside of my thigh – and all the while he holds my eyes with his, mesmerising me into submission.

Almost abruptly, he pushes his hand between my legs and a low growl escapes his lips – a predatory, possessive growl that says "This is mine," as he presses his hand against my sex and his grip on the back of my neck tightens. With none of the fumbling I'd had earlier with my coat, he swiftly unfastens my pants and slides his hand inside, the heat from his feeding slit meeting the heat of my own desire.

To think I had spent so long fantasising about this moment and now all I can do is try to control my trembling! I bite my bottom lip and determine to show no fear, no matter where his feeding hand touches me. I feel his grip on the back of my neck loosen, as he strokes the nape of my neck through my hair, drawing me even closer to him, the smell of him swamping my senses. Pressing his face into my hair, he takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of it deep into his lungs, and he murmurs something I can't hear – although I doubt I would even hear the hive itself explode, so lost am I in the sensation of the closeness of him.

Almost gently, he turns me in his arms to face away from him, pulling my pants sharply down over my hips as he does and pushing on the back of my neck to lean me forward across the table, while his other hand gives up it's exploration of me to free himself from his own clothing. My knuckles whiten as I clutch the edges of the table, causing the wine decanter to rock precariously, and I grit my teeth in anticipation of the first thrust.

Yet still he seems to hesitate, wrapping the hand that had gripped the back of my neck into a handful of my hair and sliding his other hand around my hip, pressing the flat of his palm hard against my stomach and holding me tightly against him. It's as if he's manoeuvring me into a position from which there is no escape; I clench my teeth harder, grip the edge of the table so tightly it hurts the soft palms of my hands, my heart pounding as I wait for what must come next.

Determined to make no sound, show no weakness, I squeeze my eyes shut when I feel his member nudging at my backside. He pushes his knee between my thighs and bends me further forward for easier access and I suddenly understand he's trying to make it easier as much for me as for him. The moment I relax just a little, he presses home and I can't stop a soft grunt from escaping my lips when the full length of him slides into me and my senses explode with a suddenly heightened awareness.

The heat of his groin hard up against my butt, his hand pressing my stomach, moving ever lower as he holds me tightly against himself, the tug on the handful of my hair he clutches every time he drives himself deeper and deeper into my core, the muted sound of his snarls and grunts, the deepening spicy smell of him rising around us in the heat of his desire…

With the same possessiveness as he had shown earlier, he dips his hand to my groin, still holding me tightly against his own hips, but now he's pleasuring me as well as himself. My head is reeling from the sensations both his hand and his organ are creating deep in my gut. I relax my grip on the table, using it only to steady myself and push myself back to meet his thrusts with an eagerness of my own that makes him throw his head back and growl almost in triumph.

I feel his climax, an explosion of heat inside me, but instead of immediately pushing me away, he draws me upright by my hair, pulling me close to him and spooning my back against his chest and stomach. He holds me there with his hand wrapped gently around the front of my neck, stroking from jaw to sternum and back with his long fingers, his feeding slit pulsating against my throat, competing with my own rapid pulse which quickens in time with his other hand until my own climax thunders through my body.

The waves of muscle tremors ripple through my abdomen and all the while he holds me, murmuring soothing sounds and biting gently against my neck until my climax subsides, my breathing slows to normal, and my body instinctively relaxes and slumps against his.

I don't know what I expected to happen next, but when he abruptly steps away from me my back feels cold and I shiver involuntarily. I can hear him fasten his pants as he walks away from me to the other side of the room and I feel a sudden sense of deep loss. My crush comes crashing back and I berate myself for thinking even for one fleeting moment that he was doing anything other than using me… and yet… he didn't have to take the time to ensure that I too…

Snapping myself back to reality and pushing down the feeling of awkward embarrassment, I roughly shove my shirt in to my pants and fasten them, my whole body shrugged forward as if trying to make myself as small as possible, as I studiously avoid looking at him. As it is, I don't really need to because, passion vented, he is already rifling through report tablets on his desk and I am obviously of no further use to him and in danger of outstaying my welcome. Hastily, I grab my coat from the bench and turn to leave as quickly and quietly as possible.

"Come back tomorrow," he says without looking up from his rifling and with a cavalier and casual presumptiveness that makes my hackles rise.

As if not under my own control, I feel my shoulders push back, my chin tilting defiantly, my head lifting to look directly into his eyes. "I can't," I tell him. "I have flight exams tomorrow."

He turns and strides back across the room towards me and, as if only just realising what I've done, I stop speaking and hold my breath, waiting for the onslaught of his anger. Instead he reaches out to me and takes my chin in his hand, lifting my face to look at him; his features are set in a stern expression, but when I meet his eyes they are smiling and I feel confused. He must see my confusion for he chuckles softly for a second and lets his fingers slide along the underside of my jaw, then he grasps my goatee between his fore finger and thumb and gives it a playful tug.

"You will go far on my hive, young pup," he tells me. "It is easy to be brave and stand up for yourself when your sense of injustice is riled, but not many also have the courage to know when it is wise to surrender."

Pointing to the coat I'm clutching in my hand he tells me, "Make yourself presentable before you leave my rooms, young wraith." Instantly I obey and shrug myself into my coat, fastening it almost as clumsily as I had earlier unfastened it, although my nervousness now has a different cause. He steps in close and fastens the collar for me and this time his smile is plainly obvious – and warm enough to make me spontaneously relax.

"I need eyes and ears in unexpected places and you can be of great service to me," he tells me and his words make me feel strangely important, as though he were confiding in me. He smoothes the breast panel of my coat and gives me a sharp nod, as if to say I pass inspection. "You may go now."

Instinctively obeying an order, I turn to leave but as I cover the few steps to his outer chamber, he calls after me. "I want to know how you do in your flight exams; do well and I may promote you. Come here tomorrow anyway, after you're done."

I turn and stare for a second or two, so many possibilities churning in my mind, before coming to my senses. I draw myself upright to stand to attention in front of him and nod sharply with as much respect and pride as I can muster. "Yes, Commander," I reply simply, before noticing that he is holding the seashell I had admired earlier. In three long strides he covers the distance between us and, lifting my hand with his, he places the shell in my palm.

"To remind you of your hidden depths," he says and smiles softly.

Unable to prevent it, I beam a broad smile back at him. "Yes, Commander," I say again, then turn sharply on my heel and stride out of his rooms.

I don't need to look to know he's smiling indulgently at me as I leave, no doubt fully aware of the youthful excitement his words and gesture have produced. My hive Commander has taken me under his wing and my future is now assured.

I can't hide my elation as I leave his rooms and as soon as I step out into the hallway, the mean-looking officer who had earlier told me to report to the Commander passes me by – and when he sees my smile, his face pinches even harder. It almost makes me laugh out loud. I turn and walk away from him, striding down the corridor with my back straight and my head held high.

THE END


End file.
